


Imagine The Rock Came to Storybrooke

by amycarey



Series: Imagine that Maiden Rock was a thing that happened [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 10:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycarey/pseuds/amycarey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian is so not impressed by The Rock when he arrives in Storybrooke and insinuates himself into every facet of small town life. She can’t help but feel he’s just too good to be true – and it’s not helped by the fact that he’s dating Regina Mills.</p><p> But perhaps she needs to shake that feeling off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Imagine The Rock Came to Storybrooke

**Author's Note:**

> I blame a variety of people for this monstrosity but mostly I am on some heavy duty cold meds and people were hilariously enabling and let me rave on about how The Rock should be on Once Upon a Time and he would be the best boyfriend ever and so I have been writing this in bed, mostly while lying on my stomach, in between taking naps and coughing up my lungs. Also, Marian is alive because when you’re writing The Rock into a fictional universe, why the fuck not?

It is a surprisingly balmy summer day when The Rock arrives in Storybrooke. The diner is busy when he opens the door to the diner and for a moment, Marian thinks he’s a Greek god come to life, the light shining from behind him casting a golden glow across that brown skin.

 

The whole diner goes silent and The Rock raises a hand in an awkward half-wave. “I’ve been told this is where you get the best milkshake in town,” he says.

 

Roland, sitting beside her and kicking his feet against the table leg, whispers, “is he a giant, Momma?”

 

She watches him, as he settles in at the counter, chatting to Granny who appears instantly charmed. And then Regina enters. She nods at Marian – their friendship is tentative but developing and she’s grateful to be seeing another side to this woman – before taking one look at the leviathan at the diner counter and scowling. “You’re in my seat.”

 

The Rock grins and, gods above, Regina’s glower melts into a soft, tentative smile. “I suppose I could sit elsewhere,” she admits.

 

“Sit beside me,” he says. “You look like you know everything going on in this town.”

 

And so Regina does. Marian certainly doesn’t care.

 

*

 

“And Henry says,” Roland says, skipping and holding her hand at the same time, “he says his mom is dating The Rock.”

 

“Oh?” Marian says. She’s not surprised, honestly. Regina’s beautiful and very appealing (and Marian would be lying if she hadn’t learned something about the fluidity of sexuality after meeting this softer, kinder, heroic Regina). The Rock has really settled into Storybrooke. He’s running an exercise class in the evenings, which is insanely popular. He and Belle have organised a book club for diverse young adult literature (and this month is Sara Farizan and Marian hates that she’s reading ‘Tell Me Again How a Crush Should Feel’ for a book club she refuses to attend because it’s not like The Rock needs any more fangirls). He’s joined Granny’s knitting circle and made Nani’s daughter, Lilo, a set of mittens and a matching scarf.

 

And there are rumours of him and Regina, going out to dinner. She imagines them, fingers intertwined across the table, imagines golden candlelight and a moment with a plate of spaghetti like in Roland’s favourite dog romance movie.

 

She drops Roland off with Robin – it’s his week with him – and takes this rare child-free opportunity to go for a jog. She’s deputy sheriff now and she really needs to get her fitness levels up. Emma wouldn’t stop mocking her last week when she got a stitch chasing after Pongo, but you try being dead for a long time and then frozen and see how quickly you lose muscle mass.

 

She runs through the park and it’s there that she sees them, strolling together in the purpling twilight. The Rock is so much taller than Regina that it’s almost comical, but they are holding hands and smiling and when Marian sees the way The Rock stares at her she feels a sharp pain in her chest that she cannot exactly quantify.

 

*

 

“I want to fight him,” Emma says, staring gloomily at the pile of paperwork on her desk.

 

Marian rolls her eyes. “His biceps are the size of your waist,” she says. “Why do you want to fight him?”

 

“He thinks he’s so great. He’s all buff and manly and…” She slams the stapler with venom. “He’s too tall. They look ridiculous together.”

 

Marian has often wondered about Emma Swan’s preoccupation with Regina’s happiness. Still, she’s glad to find someone who isn’t fangirling desperately over The Rock like Every Single Other Person in Storybrooke. “He’s kind of insufferable,” she admits. “No one can possibly be that perfect.”

 

“Totally,” Emma says. “God, even Henry likes him. Henry never likes any of our boyfriends. He hated Killian.”

 

Marian privately wonders if that’s something to do with the boyfriends, but she knows better than to say that to Emma. Besides, she doesn’t want to lose her ally in not falling all over The Rock. “How is Killian anyway?” she asks.

 

Emma groans. “Tedious,” she says. “We broke up _months_ ago. He just needs to let it go.”

 

The next day, rumours spread that Emma has challenged The Rock to an arm wrestling competition. Marian’s working so she can’t attend the event but Roland tells her, eyes wide with glee, that Emma lost in three seconds flat and sulked a lot. “But then the next day The Rock bought her a whole basket of bear claws for breakfast and now they’re friends.”

 

She wonders briefly if Roland should spend less time with Snow White. He’s clearly picking up on an insatiable need to gossip.

 

When Marian goes jogging that night, she sees Emma and The Rock at the park. It looks like he’s teaching her yoga. Emma falls out of a pose, collapsing on the grass and laughing hysterically. Marian’s not seen her look so light in a long time.

 

She’s irritated. She’ll have to find someone else with whom to hate on The Rock.

 

*

 

“I don’t like him,” Robin says when she arrives to pick up Roland that weekend. “And I don’t trust him with Regina.”

 

This was not what I meant, Marian thinks. “Roland,” she calls out. “Be quick or we’ll miss the start of story time.”

 

Roland stumbles down the stairs, shoelaces still untied. “Bye Daddy!” he says, running out the door.

 

“Well,” Marian says. “See you.”

 

“Good bye, Marian,” Robin replies. “You know, we should get dinner some time, reminisce over old times.”

 

“No thanks,” she says and jogs after Roland.

 

Belle isn’t running story time this week. The Rock is. Marian feels her hackles rise. There are several kids clinging from his arms and he doesn’t have a book in his hands and, what is this even? The children are supposed to be being read stories, not jump all over a muscular man like he’s a jungle gym. Before she can stop him, Roland runs forward and The Rock scoops him up and places him on his knee, before glancing over at Marian as though to check if she’s okay with it.

 

She is certainly not blushing from the power of his smile. It’s a very hot day.

 

“Now,” The Rock says and the children fall silent. “Who here has heard of Nafanua, the great warrior princess of Samoa, Toa Tama’ita’i?”

 

*

 

The Rock continues to make his presence known in the town. He and Regina keep dating – in this easy, friendly, sort of way that Marian suspects Regina has never had before if the way she looks at him with surprised wonder is any indication, as though she is waiting for the other shoe to drop. She often sees him with Henry, heads bent together at the diner, while Henry scribbles furiously in a notebook. They’re close and Marian’s heart aches, even though she’s happy for Regina, she really is.

 

Roland is the one who spots the advertisement for ballet classes and he is desperate to attend and so Marian agrees – despite Robin’s discomfort. “He should play soccer,” he grumbles.

 

“He can do both,” Marian snaps. “Or neither.”

 

They arrive at the class on Sunday afternoon, Roland practically toppling over with excitement. He spent all morning practising twirling and has dressed with particular care, in his favourite tee-shirt with a dinosaur on it and stripy leggings.

 

There are tutus in abundance but Roland hesitates even though she knows he is desperate to wear one. “You can wear one if you want,” Marian whispers.

 

“Daddy says girl ballerinas wear tutus,” he says. “Boy ballerinas wear tights.” He’s speaking quietly but The Rock must hear because next thing she knows, he’s pulling a gigantic tutu from the cupboard and stepping into it.

 

“Ballerinas wear whatever makes them happy, Dimples,” he says and Roland runs towards the pile of tutus, the dimples on his cheeks cutting into his cheeks so sharply, and Marian thinks she might cry. The Rock turns that damaging smile on her and she purses her lips, desperate not to smile back.

 

She will not be charmed by The Rock. She will not.

 

*

 

She’s at the sheriff’s station, hoping Emma will return soon because she really needs food – and possibly a bucket of coffee. The worst thing about being transported to Storybrooke, she has decided, is not the insufferable men or constant danger or having to deal with her ex-husband’s ex-girlfriend (who she really does like, honestly) day in and day out, but the fact that she’s developed a crushing coffee addiction.

 

She blames Emma Swan for that one.

 

She’s filling out an incident report that was due last week (though Regina never puts nearly the same pressure on her to complete paperwork as she does Emma) when she smells coconut and is struck with a wave of longing for home.

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” The Rock says. He’s holding a Tupperware container. “I was baking last night and I thought you might like these.”

 

“Thanks,” Marian says, taking the container. “What are they?”

 

“Masi Samoa,” he says. “My mom taught me how to make them.”

 

Marian bites into one and the flaky, buttery cookie melts in her mouth and she actually moans. “How are you such a perfect human being?” she asks.

 

“I’m sorry?” The Rock asks.

 

“I’m hungry and you appear with food – and not just any food, coconut-based food. You teach my son it’s okay to wear a tutu. You tell children stories that aren’t from a Eurocentric canon. Ugh. I don’t _want_ to like you.”

 

He looks about to say something, but then Emma arrives, a takeaway coffee in her hand. “Brought you a gift,” she says. “Best boss ever, am I right?” She bumps shoulders with The Rock. “Hey, you seeing Regina tonight?” she asks.

 

He pulls out his day planner. “I’m running a self-defence class,” he says. “There’s a stew in the slow cooker. You should head over there for dinner.”

 

Emma grins and snags a cookie from Marian’s container. “Might just have to text Regina and beg.”

 

“Well,” The Rock says, and Marian wonders if she’s mistaking things or whether he keeps looking over at her. “I’m going to take off. Nice to talk with you, Marian.”

 

She watches him walk away.

 

*

 

It has been the worst day ever since she was unfrozen. She’s sitting on a bench at the park, watching Roland play. She’s always been prone to these sorts of days, to these occasional fits of exhaustion and anxiety, where nothing she does is enough. And today she’s angry at Robin, who can’t take Roland this weekend, and at Leroy, who puked on her favourite shirt yesterday, and at David, who swapped shifts with her so she’s stuck on night shift tonight, and at Archie, who keeps nodding sympathetically at their sessions but then saying stupid things like “not all men are like that, Marian”.

 

Her hands are balled into fists, nails digging into her skin, when she feels his presence. “Hey,” he says, sitting down beside her. “You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” she says, voice clipped.

 

“I’m a decent listener,” he says.

 

“I hate men who say that,” she says. “Robin always used to say he was a good listener – and perhaps he was when we were in love but he’s not now and you can’t call yourself a good listener if you’re only listening to get into someone’s pants. He doesn’t understand why I need time this weekend.” And she continues, barely pausing for breath as she lets everything out. She’s incoherent and angry and her words are venomous tacks, hitting any target available.

 

The Rock just sits there and listens and when Marian bursts into tears, he wraps one of his magnificent arms around her shoulder and she buries her face in his chest and sobs.

 

“Sorry,” she sniffs and The Rock smiles.

 

“You can cry on me any time, Marian,” he says.

 

Roland runs over. “Momma, you okay?” he asks.

 

“Your mom’s having a bad day, Dimples,” The Rock says, standing and running a large hand through Roland’s curls. “You give her lots of love.”

 

Roland flings himself at Marian, peppering her face with kisses and winding his arms around her neck. “Love you, Momma,” Roland whispers loudly in her ear.

 

“Anything you need,” The Rock says, “just let me know.”

 

Marian smiles tremulously up at him. “Thank you,” she says.

 

She wants to cry again as he walks away because she’s starting to recognise the signs and she thinks – she knows – she’s falling for this guy. But he’s with Regina and isn’t that just so delightfully ironic?

 

*

 

She ignores The Rock when she sees him and Henry, heads together, at a table in the diner. All she wants is coffee. All she needs is coffee. She certainly doesn’t need The Rock to ask her how her day was, or offer her baked goods, or perhaps hold her in those magnificent arms.

 

“How was dinner?” she hears him ask Henry. “Operation Swan Queen ticking along nicely?”

 

“It was good,” Henry replies though he sounds dubious. “They’re so oblivious though.” He sighs and then seems to sense Marian eavesdropping. “Hey, Marian. How’s Roland?”

 

“Hello, Henry,” she says, focusing her gaze on him. He’s a good boy, kind to Roland, loves his mothers. “Roland is well.” She can feel The Rock’s eyes on her, the intensity making her fight the urge to shiver.

 

“Good,” he says and his eyes dart between her and The Rock and she makes the mistake of following his gaze and her stomach knots and flutters and, yes, she’s falling.

 

“Your coffee,” Granny says, handing it over to her and so Marian leaves as hastily as possible.

 

She hears footsteps behind her and then her name. “Marian.” She whirls around. He’s closer than she expected and she can smell nutmeg and possibly ginger and she wonders idly if he’s been baking again and then she feels sick because of course he’d be baking for Regina. His girlfriend. She glances at his lips, and is struck by an overwhelming desire to kiss him.

 

“You’re a good man,” she says. “An honourable man. But I can’t…”

                                                                                                                                          

“Marian,” he repeats, but she runs from him before she can hear what she doesn’t want to.

 

*

 

I will not think about The Rock today, Marian repeats as a mantra as she files old cases. I will not think about the way it felt when I had his arm wrapped around me, she thinks as she lobs crumpled paper balls at the trash. I will not think about how he smelled like Christmas last week, at the diner, she thinks, filling out an incident report so sharply the nib of the pen rips the page.

 

She screws the form up in frustration and throws it. It bounces of Regina, who has just walked in.

 

“Bad day?” she asks, picking up the ball of paper and placing it in the trash.

 

“I’m fine,” Marian snaps.

 

“Yes,” Regina says dryly. “You seem _fantastic_.”

 

“It’s just.” She pauses. “I shouldn’t bother you.”

 

Regina sits across from her, crossing her stocking-clad legs, elongated by the ridiculous high heeled pumps she’s wearing. Marian takes a moment to admire Regina’s perpetual grace. She’s tried high heels since her arrival in Storybrooke and felt rather like a foal, tottering around on legs too long for her. She sticks with her boots now. “You care for him, don’t you?” she says.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marian lies.

 

Regina scoffs. “Please,” she says. “You’re easier to read than Emma.”

 

She can feel the tears prick at her eyes and her body is flushed with hot shame and humiliation. “Just leave,” she says, placing her head in her hands.

 

“We’re not together,” Regina says. “I liked him a lot. He showed me I could expect more from those I tie myself to and then, well…” She smiles. “Is Emma due back soon?”

 

“You and Emma?” Marian asks, voice quavering.

 

“Me and Emma,” Regina says and she smiles so broadly and so radiantly that Marian is struck anew by her beauty. “And perhaps you and The Rock?”

 

It is then that Emma returns and Marian is already grabbing her bag. She pauses for a moment, looking back at the pair. Regina stands, pulling Emma close to her, hands around her waist, and she murmurs something in her ear and Emma laughs, the sound high and golden. It’s the happiest Marian’s seen her.

 

She wants that.

 

The Rock is at the diner, as he is every Thursday afternoon to play chess with the sorcerer’s apprentice. She stands for a moment, summoning every spare ounce of courage, before stepping forward into his line of sight. “Hi,” she says.

 

He smiles. “How are you, Marian?”

 

“I’d like to talk,” she says. “If you have time.”

 

He looks over at his chess partner, who shoos him away impatiently. “I’ve been told I’m a good listener,” The Rock says and he’s smiling, mouth quirked up at one end.

 

She takes a deep breath. “So,” she says. “Here’s the thing. There’s this guy and I thought he was with someone else and I didn’t want to screw things up for her but I really like him and now it turns out that she’s found someone else and she’s hopelessly, gloriously happy and I want to be as happy as she is and I think this guy might be the one to do that for me because he bakes the best cookies in the world and he’s kind to my son and he makes me feel like nothing could ever hurt me again and he’s the most honourable man I’ve ever met.” She heaves a deep breath and dares to look up at him. “Do you think I stand a chance?”

 

The Rock smiles. “Yeah,” he says and his voice is husky with emotion. “I really think you do.”


End file.
